Season 4 Riff
by Addisonia
Summary: OC development of Spander relationship through Pangs, Something Blue, Hush, and Doomed. Possibly also Restless. Eventual slash. Probably.
1. Chapter 1

_**Pangs**_

Xander started walking down the stairs at Giles' apartment and collapsed on his butt on the fourth one from the top, feeling heartsick. Thanksgiving had been a wash after his attack of Chumash's Revenge, and then blurting out that Angel had been in town. As usual, no one had told him the visit was supposed to be a secret from Buffy, yet the big reveal was still somehow his fault. He was tired of being the useless human, too stupid to go to college, the victim of every curse blowing through town, who wasn't important enough to be kept in the loop.

He leaned back against the stairs, his spine stretching and popping. Buffy and Willow had left Giles' place, their ex-demon friend, Anya, going with them after failing to persuade him to go home with her. Her demon knowledge helped Giles and the Scoobies out a lot, and he liked her, but her attempts to learn about humans always left Xander feeling like a rat in a research lab.

So he was left to put Giles to bed. Which was probably of the good since Xander had plenty of experience with that sort of thing. The ex-Watcher's air of respectability could be impressive, but since he'd been fired by the Watchers Council, it had been rapidly disintegrating, and he looked a lot like Xander's folks in one key way – he had passed out from too much alcohol. Maybe that was Xander's super-power, driving every adult he cared about to drink. He'd agreed to stay and watch over Giles since he was stuck with the unexpected vampire houseguest.

Xander rubbed his face hard, then grabbed the banister to pull himself up. He hadn't eaten much dinner, still feeling the aftereffects of the Chumash diseases. Now that everyone was dispatched and his stress levels had gone down, he was hungry. Looking through the bars, he saw Spike, still sitting at the dinner table, tied to his chair. The blond head was bent low.

Xander suddenly realized the vampire's shoulders were shaking. Somehow, he doubted Spike was laughing. Well, everyone had troubles. Welcome to the club. If it didn't make him feel too much like his parents, Xander would probably join him in crying into a beer. So, unusually, he really wasn't up for gloating, or even acknowledging that he'd witnessed Spike's misery.

He got to his feet, thumped down the remainder of the stairs, and clattered around in the kitchen warming up a big ol' turkey drumstick, some cornbread, and extra gravy. He sat opposite Spike and tore into juicy thigh meat. The big advantage of no "company" was dispensing with silverware. Eating any kind of bird with a knife and fork was the dumbest idea, and some things were just finger-lickin' good. He became aware of hostile eyes on him.

"You look awful," he said critically, taking in Spike's sunken eyes and pale dry lips.

"Haven't eaten in awhile, have I." Spike's words felt like a whiplash, but Xander refused to feel guilty.

"You were an unexpected and uninvited guest, Fangless," he said. "Excuse us for not stocking up on your dietary needs." He popped some more hot moist turkey in his mouth, pulled another piece off and dipped it into the gravy. "When was the last time you ate anyway?" he asked, chewing.

Spike took a deep breath and rolled his eyes, his expression taking on a stubborn set. But then he changed his mind. "Properly? Before the Initiative got me."

Xander froze, wide-eyed, his heart starting to pound. The strip of turkey and gravy drooped, forgotten, halfway to his mouth. "The Initiative? But that was weeks ago!"

"That's not the half of it," Spike muttered.

"What do you mean?" Xander's roiling stomach was putting him off his food, and he started resenting Spike for it. But then he imagined how he'd feel if he hadn't eaten for weeks instead of hours. And he suddenly let himself see that the vampire was disturbingly thin.

"Put a chip in my head, didn't they," he spat, "drugged the blood they fed me, cut into my—" Spike gave him a caustic look and a dismissive shake of his head. He stared at the turkey in Xander's hand for a minute, then looked away.

Xander glanced at it too. "You can eat this though, right? Human food?"

Spike swallowed, misery and desperation chasing across his face. "Like eating onion rings," he grudged. "Tastes good, comforting weight in the stomach, but no nutritional value whatsoever."

Xander stared at Spike, realizing how bad the vampire really did look. Venting his frustrations on Spike had become habit, given their history and his festering grief and guilt over staking his best friend. But something ticked over inside him, and suddenly he felt like a bully picking on the helpless, and the thought nauseated him. A regular victim of bullying himself, the dawning realization that he was just paying the same ugliness forward yanked at his conscience. Abruptly, he stood and walked around the table and held the piece of turkey an inch or so above Spike's mouth.

Spike stared it and licked his lips. "It would be easier if you untie me and let me feed myself," he rasped before turning his head upward and opening his mouth.

Xander dropped in the strip of meat that was now cold, and _experienced_ Spike chew and swallow. Desperate noises of pleasure and sheer relief coming from the vampire both reassured and horrified Xander. It was pathetic. Spike was right about one thing, it would be easier to untie him, but the thought of Giles' reaction if he should wake up and find that Xander had freed Spike firmed his resolve. He was already in a world of trouble with the Scoobies and wasn't about to dig a deeper hole. "Not my house, not my rules."

"So you're going to feed me like a zoo animal." Spike's tone was flat.

_You should be grateful I'm going to feed you at all, _Xander wanted to snap back. Reflexes. That's just how it was between them. Because Spike never ever acted weak, so Xander never felt like he was bullying.

Instead, Xander looked away for a moment. This was so not right. He realized Spike was looking at him again, hunger warring with pride in his expression. Xander felt the urge to wait out Spike's silence, then he sighed. Turns out he wasn't willing to make the vampire beg for food. He retrieved his plate, and leaned against the edge of the dinner table at Spike's side.

Xander pulled more turkey, dipped it in the gravy, and held it to Spike's mouth. He was aware of cobalt eyes slanting a wary gaze up at him while the vampire leaned forward and used his tongue and lips to maneuver the meat into his mouth. They repeated this operation until Xander started to relax and Spike stopped watching him. It was a few more mouthfuls before Xander realized with a start and a soft bubbling deep inside that gravy drips and grease on his fingers were being lapped up with cool, moist efficiency. He didn't let himself think too much about it.

"Do you want some juice or milk to wash it down?" asked Xander when all that was left on the plate was bones.

"Some of Watcher's . . . ex-Watcher's whisky stash will do me," said Spike with a grin.

Xander couldn't stop a faint smile. "Are you a mean drunk?" he asked, pushing the turkey's fat thigh bone around the plate.

"You've known me practically forever," growled Spike. "You should know."

"Oh right," said Xander. "You're just mean."

"I aim to please."

Xander fidgeted with the dinner plate. "Spike, I kind of remember from biology class that bone marrow makes red blood cells," he began hesitantly. "Do you think the marrow in this bone would help you?"

Spike raised an eyebrow. "I think once the bird's cooked," he replied, "the health benefits of bone marrow to vampires evaporate." Spike settled back and stared at him speculatively. "But that was very inventive, Harris. You can be quite resourceful sometimes, can't you."

Xander flushed and wished desperately that his enemy's words didn't make him want to spread his tail feathers like a peacock. "Well, that earned you a shot of Giles' finest," he said, avoiding Spike's eyes as he cleared the table.

He realized, as he washed the plate, that his fingers were completely clean of food. He wondered whether all vampires had the ability to disengage human self-preservation instincts, or whether the skill was a Spike Special. Because even now, he couldn't summon an ounce of panic. All he could think about was the chocolate fountain that had surged inside him when Spike chased a gravy drip and sucked a finger into the cool darkness of his mouth. And chocolate bubbles had gushed deep into Xander's belly, spilling even lower. Propped up next to Spike, Xander's state of semi-arousal couldn't be missed, but he fought the instinct to drop the food and walk away. The vampire was starving and didn't react. When it came to pride, both of them were getting a trouncing that day, and both of them were trying respect as a strategy to get past it. It seemed to be working.

Xander filled one of Giles' whisky tumblers half-full and brought it over to the table. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered and held the glass to Spike's lips. Before he could tip it, the vampire pulled away, clearly startled.

"Bring the bottle, Harris."

"Not going that far, Spike, sorry."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Just want to look at the label. Pretty sure this is Laphroiag, but . . ."

With a sigh, Xander went and looked at the bottle, his eyes crossing at the unfamiliar jumble of letters. He thumped the bottle down in front of Spike.

"Bloody hell, can't believe Watcher was using this to make himself pass out." He grinned and resettled himself in the chair. "Be a love and put an ice cube in that. Just one."

Impatience shot through Xander. "Jeez, you want a drink or not?"

The vampire speared him with a look. "Open up your eyes and mind, boy, and get an education," he growled.

Xander jumped, and then mentally kicked himself. A tied up, chipped vampire putting the fear of all that was evil in him—_get a grip, Xan-man_. But this wasn't any vampire, this was William the Bloody. Xander obediently dropped an ice cube in the tumbler, drawing in a deep, shaky breath, and brought it back. He settled by Spike again.

"Now learn something," husked the vampire. "Keep turning that tumbler slowly until the ice cube just melts." As Xander awkwardly moved the glass, a frown creased Spike's brow. "Not meant to be shaken _or_ stirred, boy," he said. "More like . . . _swirled_. But don't swirl because it'll only slosh and that'd be a waste. Just turn the glass around and around."

He watched the glass revolving in Xander's hands.

And Xander watched him.

It was obvious from Spike's half-lidded gaze that he would rather do this ritual for himself, but even second hand, his sensual enjoyment was transparent. Suddenly, all impatience fled and Xander wanted to do this _right_. He began rotating the tumbler more smoothly while the ice eroded away.

"What's the deal with the ice cube?" he asked.

"This is a distinctive, exceptional whisky," Spike murmured. "The just-melted ice opens up its flavour and fragrance."

Xander wondered, from the way Spike talked with quiet reverence, whether shouting would bruise the liquor or something. He was stunned by the joy from this simple pleasure that had begun radiating through the wreckage of Spike's life. Unlife. Wouldn't want to bruise the liquor if it could do that.

"Now." Spike leaned forward slightly, and Xander tipped the glass against his lips. He took a small sip, and some splashed down his chin.

"Bloody hell, Harris, not meant to be slugged back!" spluttered the vampire as he tried to chase the trickle of golden liquid with his front teeth.

Heart thumping, Xander reached out and caught the drips. Ran his finger up to Spike's lower lip. And when Spike tried to lick it up, popped his finger into his own warm mouth. Sharp alcohol and intense flavour exploded on his tongue.

Spike's eyebrows shot up and, staring at Xander, he sat back. His lips twitched, like the joke was on him and he had the grace to enjoy it.

"What do you taste?" he asked.

Xander grimaced. "The burn. Strong taste. Salt?" He shrugged. "Not sure I like it."

"Take a little sip into the front of your mouth," Spike said softly, "and let it roll back all over your tongue."

Xander felt a current go through him and he almost shook his head in an effort to get reality back into focus, because this was just . . . weird. A whole side to Spike that no one in Sunnydale suspected. Hidden depths that implied an exotic world out there that Xander knew through movies existed, but couldn't imagine as real. He pictured Spike and Dru completely at home in a James-Bond-Monte-Carlo setting, Spike slim and elegant in a tuxedo, Dru in a spangly, slinky long dress—a striking couple that turned heads everywhere they went. And something . . . complicated unfurled inside Xander at being allowed a glimpse of this side of Spike.

"OK, who are you, and what have you done to the steel-toed, street-brawling monster we know as Spike?" he joked shakily.

He couldn't bring himself to break the gaze with those sparkling sapphire eyes as he followed whisky-tasting instructions. Cool liquid turned to Greek fire as it coated his tongue and slipped down his throat. He coughed and his eyes watered.

"Holy crap!" he rasped, his stomach blooming with heat. Spike grinned as Xander blinked rapidly. He opened his mouth to snark.

"Wait just a minute," Spike interrupted, his eyes still dancing, still staring at Xander. "Now. Tell me what you taste."

Xander thought for a minute. The burning had burnt off, leaving . . .

"Bonfires," he said at last. "And the ocean. And . . ." Xander struggled for words.

"A tingle like the dying reverberations of the Rank Organization gong."

"Exactly!" Xander came off the edge of the table with excitement.

"You have the makings of a true connoisseur, young Harris," Spike laughed.

Xander pinked. Dammit, _another_ zing of gratification.

He settled back down and fed Spike the Laphroiag in small sips. Occasionally, he dipped his finger in the glass and sucked on it. Somehow, it cut the sharpness that way. And Spike watched him with dark, hooded eyes that made his toes curl in a happy way.

"Like it, do you?" asked Spike.

"It grows on you." Xander pulled out a chair, and turned it around so he sat with his back to the table. He stretched and nestled in the buzz that was starting to infiltrate his mind.

"It's an acquired taste that most people don't acquire." Spike savoured another sip. "It takes a sophisticated palate."

Xander's insides started doing the very sophisticated Snoopy dance. "Stop with the compliments, would you?" he said. "Otherwise I'm going to have to . . ."

They stared at each other.

"Have to what?" Spike husked.

Xander didn't know what possessed him. But something Hellmouthy _had_ to have. It was the only explanation. He lowered the glass to the table, startled when it thumped down. Without taking his eyes off Spike, he unbuttoned his cuff, pushed up his sleeve, and stretched out his inner forearm.

"Think you can drink some without setting off the chip if I volunteer?" he asked.

Spike made a sound very like a sob, flashed to game-face and back, and gazed at the expanse of flesh that presented the boy's radial artery to him.

"Xander," he whispered, and swallowed. "Please don't be toying with me, Xander."

Xander took in his look of desperation, watched him blink rapidly while moisture beaded into diamond dust on his lashes, and wondered why it had taken him so long to think of this.

"Not toying with you, Spike." Given Spike's level of starvation, it was surprisingly painful talking around the ache filling Xander's throat.

"Will you untie me?" Spike asked.

Xander's stomach sank and he shook his head. "Can't."

"Then . . . then get a couple of cushions to rest on," he said. "If this works, you won't be able to hold up your arm once I start and I won't be able to help you."

Something wiggled in Xander's gut that wasn't fear, and he resolved not to ask stupid questions like whether Spike knew when to stop. Either he trusted this starving but experienced Master vampire or he didn't, and he had to decide _now_.

The fatalism that had infected his life reared its head, as Xander realized he didn't care if fate said his number was up tonight. He wanted to live, but if the vampire drained him, it had been made perfectly clear that Xander wasn't doing anything earth-shattering with his life that would make any kind of difference to his friends and family. And Spike'd get dusted in the morning.

And if Xander wasn't drained, for once he would connect with one other . . . creature. However imperfectly. For a little while anyway. And dammit, at a time when no one else noticed him and on a day he'd been put through the grinder, Spike had made him feel happy and useful and . . . happy. He nodded and stood up.

"Please . . ." Spike looked at him, his trail of tears giving Xander pangs. "Please don't change your mind."

Xander hooked his hand awkwardly around Spike's head and pulled him against his thigh. "I won't." Spike pushed into him for a second.

Xander went to the couch and found three longish, flattish cushions in a deep red that stacked well. He laid them out on the table, and he adjusted Spike's binding so he could lean forward some. It was decided Spike would bite him upright, so if anything went wrong, he would have the leverage to pull away quickly. If all went well, he could push Xander's arm down to the stack of cushions and drink.

Xander adjusted his chair to position his arm at the right distance for Spike.

Stomach reeling, he breathed in and out.

He looked at Spike who changed into game-face. And he reached for the bottle of Laphroiag, and tossed the last two fingers of whisky down his throat, sputtering and blinking until the shock died away.

"Guess I'm not so much the connoisseur after all," he said, slamming the empty bottle down, feeling the burn all the way to his hands and feet.

Spike took a breath to speak.

"Not—" Xander said, hand covering Spike's mouth, "not changing my mind."

And he stretched out his arm.

The prickling of extremely sharp fang tips played against his skin, but as Spike pushed down, he only succeeded in pushing Xander's arm away. Xander braced it with his free hand underneath. This time Spike's fangs slid home delicately and perfectly.

Xander's head was spinning too much to feel any pain, and blood started flowing. Spike didn't go off into paroxysms of pain. Relieved, Xander moved his free hand behind Spike's head to make sure there was no inadvertent "separation of the saucer-section" as he lowered his arm to the cushions.

Xander watched him suck, listened to his moans of eagerness, and started to feel curls of lightheadedness, euphoria, deep-in-his-belly pleasure that made him groan and squirm in his chair. While Spike was distracted, Xander gave into the temptation to play with Spike's hair and lightly scratch the vampire's skull with his free hand.

Xander lowered his head to rest on his upper arm so he could watch Spike's jaw and throat muscles working as he sucked and drank, demon eyes closed, the alien face a picture of concentration. God, this felt so fucking good.

Eventually, Xander could sense the sucking slow down, and Spike unhurriedly retracted his fangs. He licked at blood still welling, and cleaned up some excess that had gotten away from him, and his game-face faded away. While he worked the puncture wounds on Xander's arm, waves of pleasure continued to zing through Xander's body. Xander swallowed, and unclenched the fingers which had tangled in Spike's hair.

"Christ, Xander, your blood! It's like caviar popping on my tongue," Spike said at last in a breathy voice, laying down his head on Xander's outstretched wrist and palm on the pillow. The fingers of Xander's other hand slipped from his hair and caught in the neckline of his black tee-shirt. "Tastes of antique brass and dappled sunshine with a low note of hazelnuts soaked in expensive liquor. You're like a bloody gourmet appetizer." He gusted a laugh and glanced slyly at Xander. "The French would call you an _amuse-bouche_. A mouth-teaser."

Xander stared into Spike's pretty, pretty face, so intimately close on a shared pillow, and shivered at the thought of teasing that mouth some more. And being called gourmet – for someone who had never been anything special that was quite probably the nicest thing anyone had said about him.

And it came from Spike. Jeez.

Xander breathed out a laugh too, and then stopped when he realized he was lightly scraping his nails along Spike's neck and collarbone. Echoes of pleasure still rippled through him, and he had no idea whether it was from the alcohol or Spike. The irony wasn't lost on him that the source of all his good feelings today hadn't been Willow or Buffy or Giles, but his deadliest enemy.

There was a dribble of blood on Spike's chin and, mimicking the Laphroiag action, Xander caught it on a finger. This time he pushed it into Spike's mouth. Spike sucked in his finger up to the knuckle and Xander sucked in a short, sharp breath. His eyes drifted shut while Spike mouthed the length of his finger, worked a second one in with it, worried the sensitive skin between the two, making Xander hum.

Xander cracked his eyes open. "You have a clever mouth," he murmured.

Working from the root of the fingers to the tip, Spike pulled away. "Really do," he said and kissed Xander's fingertips.

Fallen angel seemed like such an obvious metaphor for the glowing creature in front of Xander, so perfect, and his stomach swooped as he realized he wanted to touch that beautiful face . . . with his lips. But it didn't seem right to get that personal with someone who didn't have the freedom to get up and walk away if they weren't interested. Even someone he wasn't completely sure _was_ a 'someone.'

Xander pulled out his hand from under Spike's head and tucked it under his own. "Your other face . . . show me."

Spike stared at him with an unreadable expression, then his face rippled and a demon rested its head not a foot away from Xander.

He didn't ask permission to touch, reached over and stroked fingertips across that scar that stood out even where the human-face eyebrow had faded away, caressed the ridges of Spike's forehead and nose bridge, sketched the triangle of his eye sockets framing golden rings around wide black pupils. Skin felt like brushed leather. He followed the length of Spike's nose and outlined his mouth, just now aware of the perfect fullness of his lower lip.

And Xander knew. He just knew he needed to go out and get laid. Right away.

OK, tomorrow.

Spike growled softly deep in his chest, and Xander grinned. Or, he thought he probably did. "Kitty," he said, scratching under Spike's ear.

"'M not a kitty," said Spike, baring his fangs. He didn't stop the growling, but it was more of a soft chuffing than a purr.

_I'm petting a lion_, thought Xander with a roller-coaster rush. He always picked the most dangerous rides. "Not just any kitty," he murmured, "Mr Kitty Fantastico."

Spike's chuff evolved into something between a growl and a roar, and his game face faded away. "I don't think any human has ever played with me before," he said sounding bemused, "and the last human I played with was . . . huh . . . you."

Xander's stomach twisted and his groin twitched. "The old factory near Breaker's Wood."

Spike nodded his agreement.

Xander's mind flashed back to a year earlier, playing possum while Spike laid him out on a bed in the basement where Willow worked on a spell. Vampire hands all over his body straightening him out. Fingers twining in his hair. Pillow pushed tenderly under his head. Oddly arousing smell of leather and liquor and smoke. Spike startled, pacing, ranting about Drusilla. Suddenly gone. And Xander left with feelings that broke his resolve to keep his hands off Willow.

So, Spike knew he'd come out of unconsciousness, hadn't been taken in by his fake blackout. Surprise.

"You should sleep now."

"Don't wanna," whispered Xander, feeling like a dead weight and a floating balloon at the same time. "Wanna look at you. And wanna touch you. All night."

"What you did for me tonight . . ." Spike murmured. "Want to touch you all night too."

Xander closed his eyes and thought about that. He opened his eyes. "Don't wanna look at me?"

"Not going to take my eyes off you, love," said Spike softly. Affectionately. "Not for a second."

Xander smiled and slept.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Something Blue**_

Xander's vision singed and curled and charcoaled around the edges.

"A little help here?" he gasped. He watched Buffy out of the corner of his eye straddle Spike on the floor of the crypt and attack him with her mouth. Xander fizzed with jealousy and resentment.

_Dammit, I'm going down here!_ And he throttled harder on the demon throttling him. Anya pounded on the same demon, hanging from its back, and he liked her more than ever for trying. But neither of them was making a dent.

"_Buffy_," he pleaded. She didn't hear.

A flicker of lightning by the crypt entrance drew his attention and Willow appeared. She chanted. And he lost interest. She had been by turns increasingly self-absorbed and insulting in the weeks since Oz left and he couldn't let her divert his attention from staving off a world of hurt right in front of his face.

And then the demon trying to kill him disappeared.

Getting his legs steady under him, Xander panned around the vault. Anya looked as blindsided as he felt. Spike and Buffy were making a production of being mutually disgusted with each other. And Willow was in a mood of self-flagellation. He staggered out of the mausoleum, his way lit by the moon, and he rounded the corner.

One hand on the crypt wall, one hand on his thigh, Xander fought back a compelling impulse to cry like a lost puppy.

It was the spell. He knew it was the spell. But he couldn't help it. Something inside him howled because Buffy had chosen to kiss Spike rather than save _him_. And because Spike had chosen to kiss Buffy rather than . . . kiss him. And both those things added up to the fact that Spike had pushed him to the outside of his own circle.

And how in hell had _that_ happened? Spike was the outsider here. Spike was the helpless one. Spike was the demon they were supposed to band together to defeat. Was Xander so insignificant to his friends that a bad guy, a powerless chipped bad guy, could crush him with a . . . a _raised eyebrow_?

He hated that he cared so much, but his burning shame at being the runt of the litter _again _almost brought him to his knees. No matter what he did, he couldn't seem to get away from his assigned role in the group.

"Going to help me do something about this Buffy-breath, Harris?"

Startled, Xander spun around. His fingers almost brushed Spike's duster, the vampire had snuck up so close. Wound up tighter than a crossbow, Xander grabbed lapels, and swung leather and smoke and blue eyes against the crypt wall. The moonlit silver-blond head fell back with a sharp crack. Spike winced.

"Why the hell should I help _you_?" Xander said, breathing harshly.

Spike's eyes flashed luminous gold for a second, and he emptied his lungs slowly, but his gaze didn't trace their usual contemptuous flick upwards. Instead, his _oh-we're-back-to-that-are-we_? look said it all.

"Closest _you'll_ ever get to kissing Buffy," he said with a hard edge, eyes glittering like chips of polished azurite.

A stuttering strobe flashed inside Xander. "Oh no, Spike, you so do not get to gloat."

He grabbed Spike's jaw and pinched the hinge hard enough to bruise skin and open Spike's mouth.

"Want some help with that Buffy-breath there?" he gritted, his words sandblasted with soft and lethal tones of ground glass. "Sure." And he proceeded to brutalize the neutered vampire's mouth with his own.

Wrapping both hands around Spike's jaws and ears, nails gouging his cheekbones and skull, Xander crushed and sucked and bit that mouth, grinding teeth against teeth, bruising and breaking skin, soaking up the smoke-and-pepper, cloves-and-cinnamon sharp-and-tart taste that was Spike—_Slayer lemonade at Christmas stripping old English pennies back to their copper shine—_ digging for bonfires and the ocean, searching for . . .gods, _what_?

And Spike just took it.

A tiny spark of remorse made Xander mad at the vampire for submitting, but testosterone overwhelmingly made him exultant. With a violent shove, he grated his chest and hips and thighs against Spike, denying the lust that filled his body while his mind blazed with the need to punish.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" _Stop this, Xander, before you say something you regret_. But when did he ever listen to his grown-up voice? "You think because Buffy kissed you, you're all that? You think you're part of the in-crowd now?"

The clean-flame blue of Spike's eyes focused on him with such intensity, Xander expected the fallout to his words to hurt like blasts from a phaser set on Kill. Expected and hoped. Hoped it would hurt enough to unseat the bite of his humiliation.

"Come to think of it, yeah," said Spike evenly, "it _was_ nice for about the five minutes it lasted."

A furrow creased Xander's brow. The vampire's cool neutrality didn't compute. And Xander didn't want to calm down.

"Fight me, dammit Spike!"

But instead of reacting to Xander's provocation, Spike seemed to absorb it and channel it away.

Xander's world tripped into slow motion as he took a step back, jaw tightening, and felt his hands ball into solid weights at the ends of his arms. He knew he was going to hit Spike, and with helpless grief, he knew he would never recover from it. He would never forgive himself for venting on someone defenseless. He would never forgive himself for becoming his father. And he would never again be able to look the vampire in the eye, because he didn't hate Spike, he— But he couldn't stop himself any more than the _Titanic_ could brake for the iceberg.

As he hauled one arm back, strong hands whipped around his waist and pulled him in tight, off-balance, sending his forearms over Spike's shoulders to steady himself, somehow turning a brawl into a deadly dance. Xander stared at Spike's reddened swollen lips, simultaneously appalled and aroused. The finger-shaped bruises, split skin, and half-moon nail punctures around them weren't so pretty. Xander quivered with shock and desire.

"Like it rough, do you boy?" Spike growled.

In Xander's moment of distraction, Spike twisted them both and propelled Xander back against the wall in his place. With the vampire's hard body leaning against him, Xander gasped and blinked as lust broke free and burned away all the hostility and resentment inside him. Which left him, panting roughly, to grapple with a startling truth: Spike took charge and Xander was putty.

Fingers of one pale hand dug into Xander's ass, those of the other grabbed a tight fistful of dark hair, and Spike's mouth closed over his again. Cool tongue shoved in hard and deep, delving into every crevice like a bully violating his personal space. And Xander stuttered out a moan, partly from _wanting_ and _needing_ so badly, partly from never before in his life attaching 'thrill' to being bullied.

"_Spike,_" he gasped in syncopation with a moan from the blond, as the rivets of the vampire's button-up jeans, armor over hardness compared to the worn fabric of his shabby sweatpants, nuzzled against his own erection. The slim blond's fingers loosened fractionally and every nerve in Xander's body was primed with the energy sent out by those trembling elegant hands.

"_Xander_."

Xander hardly registered the prickle of fangs against his mouth, that one whispered word a storm surge that lifted and pushed him into another intense kiss. He couldn't stop himself arching into the cool hard body pressed against him. Then Spike jerked and sprang away, and Xander's heart rhythm stumbled.

_The chip! _

Xander's lower lip and tongue began to burn. And he gazed at the figure before him in surprise because . . .

"You—you're not hurt."

Game-face faded away. "No."

The men stared at each other, and Xander's mouth started to fill.

So the chip didn't go off. What did that mean? And Spike pulled back as if it did. What did _that_ mean? The top half of the vampire's face seemed taken up with huge, wide, fearful blue eyes under dramatic black brows, while below, lower lip caught under even white teeth, his mouth was an eloquent expression of panic. And he couldn't look more vulnerable, or more . . .

_Oh gods, Spike._

"I—I don't know what happened," said Spike unsteadily.

Neither did Xander. But with drippage starting down his chin, he knew what he wanted to happen next.

He took a step forward, put a shaking hand around Spike's head, and pulled him in. Felt a huff of crisp air against his cheek, maybe from a silent sob or maybe from simple relief.

Spike changed to game-face. Then a cool tongue in Xander's mouth and over his lower face, vampire lips quivering, firm hands sliding around his ribs. Xander's free hand grazed repeatedly over Spike's cheek and ear, through his hair and down the slender cream pillar of his neck.

"_Xander_."

Xander closed his eyes and gasped out a moan, the whispered sound of his name once again driving him wild. Legs weakening, he sagged in the vampire's firm grasp. The blood flow in his mouth wouldn't last long, but for now breathy-squeaky-contented noises from Spike made Xander's spine ripple and his belly quiver. His fingers became ensnared in hair that crackled with gel.

"Gods," murmured Spike, "you taste so, so . . . nothing else can . . . could ever . . . gods Xan."

A kiss without alarming prickles in Xander's mouth, but lots of trembling tingles through his core, a kiss as slow and sweet and hot as chipotle molasses . . .

"Sp-Spike, I'm sorry about my hissy fit," he said at last, pressing the side of his nose and lips against the vampire's cool, desecrated cheek.

Spike went still, then sighed, finished licking up the remnants of blood, and pulled Xander into a full-body hug.

"It was Red's mojo, love, it wasn't your fault," he said in a low voice. "And trust me, I know about venting frustration in ways you can't begin to imagine."

Arms gratefully wrapping around the vampire, Xander's eyebrows climbed at how far he could reach. The immense power vibrating within the blond's already slender frame did nothing to disguise the fact that, in the Scoobies' care, Spike was still shamefully underfed.

All traces of aggression in Xander transmuted in that moment into a sense of protectiveness for the demon who had the instincts and capacity to destroy him. Xander's arms tightened. Yeah, the chip was a game-changer, but this is where Xander's rep as not the brightest bulb in the hardware store came from—because he could be as logical as anyone, but his emotions trumped intellect every time. With resigned acknowledgment that his self-preservation instincts couldn't always recognize danger or plain didn't engage if they did, he stood as one solid piece with his lethal companion in marble moonlight.

It seemed a moment for confidences.

"I-I just don't seem to matter to anyone who . . . matters to me." Xander was glad he didn't have to look at Spike as, chin over leather-clad shoulder, he screwed his eyes shut and leaned into the blond head.

The leather and smoke aroma Xander now associated with comfort and safety started doing its job, and his muscles felt noticeably looser. A distant part of his brain picked up a citrus-and-rain smell from Spike's skin and catalogued it as the vampire's natural scent.

Spike gave him a quick squeeze, then let go. "You matter to me," he said gruffly, and he walked away to prop himself up against the mausoleum, facing away from Xander, digging in his pockets. "If that means anything." He lit a cigarette.

Heart thumping, Xander stared at his back, startled on so many levels: the heartfelt reaching out from a vampire he'd abused, the abrupt physical separation just now, Spike's blatant vulnerability. And the sudden appearance of Anya from around the crypt. At the thought of getting caught 'fraternizing' by Buffy, a critical part of Xander's anatomy deflated. He distantly noted that his status within the group still mattered enough to send thoughts of Spike skittering.

Spike inhaled deeply one more time and trod on the cigarette butt, before walking on ahead as if to distract Anya who looked from one to the other of them wide-eyed.

"You look . . . you look like you've both been attacked by the same face-bashing demon." She stifled a smile and turned back to Buffy. "It's OK, they're here, and both still alive." Anya smirked. "Just."

Ohhh, Willow was in a world of trouble.

Walking back to Giles' apartment, Anya animatedly shared what she knew about the demons that had shown up to molest Xander. She started with those at his apartment where, she explained, she had been trying to borrow a cup of sugar as a traditional human way to initiate sex. Xander rolled his eyes, but despite her unnerving narrative, he couldn't keep his focus on her.

_Spike_. He may be chipped, but he was still an agent of chaos. He turned Xander upside down and made him spin on his head. He made Xander mad as hell, but then seemed to know intuitively how to listen to him and calm him and arouse him and—seriously—arouse him in equal measure. He made Xander want to reject him and throw him out and yet at the same time want to keep him close and protect him. He made Xander afraid of him, yet also idiotically fearless of him by turns. Xander's knees rippled at the incredibly erotic memory of Spike savouring his spilled blood. _And what's the what with the chip?_

Glancing at Spike, he bit his lip and frowned, taking in a sharp breath when he felt cool fingers in the waistband of his sweats pull him back a few steps. Spike cocked a questioning eyebrow at him as he mashed another spent cigarette underfoot. They resumed walking just out of earshot of the others.

Xander glanced at Spike's face and winced, aching to stop and to touch and to . . . well, the time-honoured remedy was to kiss it better. But he wasn't willing to risk attracting unwelcome attention.

"Sorry about the . . ." He gestured at the damage.

"You should see the other guy," Spike grinned. "So, what's up?"

_I want the world to melt away and let me spend the rest of my life kissing you._

Xander put on his resolve face. "You're going to have to hit me," he said.

Eyes trained on Xander, Spike could be eerily still, even when walking. "Ask me to hit you when I'm holding a bottle of Jack and you've got a glass needs filling, and you've got a deal," he said at last.

Something very like warmth swelled in Xander at the way Spike deftly avoided this issue of doling out pain to him. Nevertheless, he wasn't willing to let the point go.

Had the chip quit working altogether? Or only with Xander? Or were they just finding some escape clauses? Because this was the second time the chip, designed to stop vampires biting, hadn't fired when Spike bit him.

"I need to know about your hardware," he said.

After a moment, Spike nodded understanding.

But now wasn't the time for experimentation. With a sigh and a tip of the hat to Willow's unmatched steadfastness, Xander's resolve face dissolved.

Slanting a sideways glance at Spike, he was tempted to jump his demon and to hell with the others. And he sensed his feelings reciprocated. In unconscious dialogue, hands rose, fingertips brushed, they slid closer together.

"Xander!"

He jumped as Buffy turned to look at him, all but ran away from Spike. "Yeah, Buff?"

"Anya doesn't know anything about what attacked outside the mausoleum after Willow did her thing," she said in crisp all-businessy tones, studiously ignoring Spike. "What can you tell me?"

Xander glanced at Anya who shrugged with a slight smile, her features innocent. Blind panic emptied his brain.

"Uh . . ." What attacked? What could he say? _A human male Caucasian, 5'11", dark hair, brown eyes, orange and white long-sleeved tee, black sweatpants with white side stripes . . . _"Um, I didn't get a good look—"

"There really shouldn't have been anymore demons showing up," interrupted Willow all breathlessly helpful, "after I, uh, undid the spell."

Buffy turned her green eyes away from Willow back to Xander who, heart pounding and face flushed, noticed the disgraced witch shrinking away again. Under other circumstances, he might have felt bad for her, but he was too taken up with his own anxiety as Buffy's intense scrutiny started to burn him up like an ant under an angled magnifying glass. And no matter how hard he tried to jumpstart his brain, he couldn't thread together a coherent response for her.

"It could have just been a random demon on the prowl," interjected Spike.

Xander almost slumped with relief at the suggestion, but Buffy was still avoiding an accidental visual brush against the vampire's baby blues.

"Xander?" she said, her body held tight and vibrating with tension. "What can you tell me?"

Spike huffed in exasperation. "Any demon's attention—" _breath_ "—Slayer," he iterated with faux patience, "could have been attracted by a pair of aggressive males too wrapped up in each other to pay attention to their surroundings."

Xander almost moaned in despair. _Sure, tell her we were—what's your word for it? oh yeah—snogging, why don't you? _Before he knew it, he'd turned and flipped his fist into Spike's nose. It wasn't a hard blow, but Spike yowled, his hands cupped around the centre of his face.

Buffy cast a smile of infinite gratitude on Xander. He hadn't actually made the move for her, in fact he was aghast at what he had done to shut Spike up, but his chest involuntarily puffed out. Her special look was a universal balm for all his wounds.

"Xander, I know your hatred of vampires runs deep," she said, her posture relaxing, "but don't let aggression make you oblivious. I can't always be there, and I wouldn't be happy if anything happened to you."

_Vampires: hatred. Right._ This time Xander allowed a sense of reprieve to fill him as he replayed Spike's words and saw how they could be interpreted differently. He gathered Buffy in a hug. And he ignored the slightly patronizing assumption that he needed her to save him from demons. From Spike. If she only knew . . .

Buffy squeezed his arm and started the walk back to Giles' again, the girls flanking her. He and Spike fell in behind. Buffy was soon absorbed in questioning Anya once more while Willow remained lost in her own thoughts.

Xander flickered a look towards Spike, guilt dredging his throat. "I—um—I'm sorry . . ."

He didn't know how to continue. It was in his nature to be loyal, and he'd known Buffy and Wills for years. After all that shared friendship and saving the world with the Slayer, his reflex to keep the group whole shouldn't have been a surprise.

But left to develop their own rapport, Spike was becoming important to him. Maybe a friend. Maybe something more. And he couldn't believe how bad it hurt to think he'd screwed it up.

The blond didn't respond, kept walking with his head bowed, reminding Xander with a pang of his demeanour the evening Spike had sat alone at Giles' Thanksgiving dinner table. Xander reached out to touch the vampire's arm, but was shaken off. He briefly closed his eyes, wondering whether there was a way to make amends. His relationship with Spike was fragile and so new it barely existed, but already he wasn't sure if he could live with a permanent rift.

"Y'know, no one else's witchy curse brought down danger on their best friends," Xander murmured at last. "Isn't a magnet supposed to draw trouble to itself? But I bring equal madness and mayhem on myself and everyone else around me."

"Only cuz everyone else jumps in to help you, love," Spike jumped in. Then he paused. "I'm—I'm just sorry I can't be one of them."

Xander's heart lurched because there was that vulnerability again. And Spike had re-opened the portal between them.

"Spike—"

"Xander," Spike interrupted, "You think—" He struggled. "Things have changed for me now. I can't . . . there are a lot of things I can't do anymore. You think you're the lowest man on the totem pole, but you . . . I have nothing left, no one . . ." He took a deep breath and spoke so low Xander had to strain to hear. "But you still have the power to evict me from the group. If you think you're at rock bottom, then I'm tunneling."

Bared underbelly.

And the boulder crashing in Xander's stomach brought him to an abrupt halt because, with Spike's self-characterization of being somehow beneath him, Xander had the uneasy feeling the platinum blond's Powerhouse lantern light had just dimmed.

Xander realized that what Spike had drawn his attention to was true, that while Xander didn't have the snap-your-fingers-and-it's-done kind of power, Spike really did have very little now and Xander probably could get him ditched by the Scoobies without too much effort. And with power comes responsibility, and how much did it suck about the tiny scrap of power he had to _know_ he'd never use it?

He glanced at the creature ahead of him who made his heart turn over. He couldn't use that little bit of power because he'd just fallen for Spike. Hard. And emotions trumped intellect every time.

Xander hurried to catch up with the group, and pulling Spike around by the arm, kissed him softly on the mouth. Anya caught a glance of them and might spill the beans to the others, but for the way Spike had opened up to him, Xander didn't care. He saw Spike stare from her to him, then look away. As the two men resumed walking, a shy smile appearing on the vampire's averted face stunned Xander. _Could he get any more beautiful_?

"Maybe someday," Spike flashed his game-face, "I'll show you that being a demon magnet doesn't have to be all bad."

Entranced by Spike's darkening eyes as they looked at each other, Xander stumbled. A cool, long-fingered hand grasped him above the elbow to steady him, then skimmed the length of his forearm, meshed with his fingers, and squeezed before withdrawing.

All anxiety whirling inside Xander vanished when he found a sudden clarity in Spike's words. "That would be . . . nice," he said.

Because emotions trumped intellect every time. And Xander thanked merciful Zeus they weren't living in the same space since he would probably embarrass both of them.

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_**A/N: **As always, reviews feed the muse :o) Let me know what you like and what you don't like (constructively) because nothing makes me happier than seamless interaction between my stories and you the reader._


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